Devotion
by My Misguided Fairytale
Summary: She lives her life in the present, while he never can, and never will. How strange it is, to be living only for Death? // A story of death and love told in five acts. // AU, Blueshipping, SetoxKisara


Title: Devotion

Genres: Supernatural, Angst

Summary: She lives her life in the present, while he never can, and never will. How strange it is, to be living only for Death? // A story of death and love told in five acts. // AU, Blueshipping, SetoxKisara

A/N: Reincarnation, major AU, all that good stuff. This was written for round 5 of the YGO Fanfiction Competition. Enjoy!

* * *

_When the evening shadows and the stars appear_

_And there is no one there to dry your tears_

_I could hold you for a million years_

_To make you feel my love_

_I know you haven't made your mind up yet_

_But I would never do you wrong_

_I've known it from the moment that we met_

_No doubt in my mind where you belong._

_Make You Feel my Love, Adele_

_

* * *

_**Devotion**

_**Prologue**_

Kisara kneels when she's told to and mumbles along with the prayers half-heartedly in the red leather-bound book before her. She's wearing a dress that's far too itchy but it's the only black one she owns, and they're her parents, and they didn't deserve to die and she doesn't want to disrespect their memory by showing up in something green or red or heaven forbid, white.

It's over too quickly but even the short service is too long to Kisara, and she shivers as she approaches the casket, hanging back behind the other members of her family that she's never met and looking around the room for something else to occupy her attention. She glances out one of the stained-glass windows to her left, wishing that she could go outside instead of being forced to stay here. It is spring, and everything outdoors seems to be bursting with life, when inside the church Kisara feels almost suffocated.

She moves aside to let others walk by her, bumping up against a tall vase filled with lilies and ferns. She moves to touch one of the petals. It feels smooth and waxy under her fingertips, and Kisara almost doesn't notice the unusually tall man who steps up beside her.

She looks up. "Hi." It would have been rude not to say anything, after all.

The man looked a little lost. _Not lost_, she mentally berates herself a moment later; confused? Out of place? From the set of his face and his jaw, he looked like he frequented funerals all the time, but the way he was dressed…Kisara's lips turn up crookedly. He was wearing the _strangest_ coat, and in the middle of spring, too! At least it was black. Kisara would never have left the house that morning dressed in something like _that_.

"I'm sorry for your loss."

He said the words like nearly every other person who spoke them, casually and more out of a sense of duty than meaning. He didn't look the least bit sorry, and Kisara wonders briefly why people would say things that they didn't mean.

"Ah, thank you," she says. "It's ok, really. The car crash was painless, the doctors said, and they lived a good life …and it shouldn't be sad when people who have lived a good life pass away, you know? We should be happy for them, not… _miserable_."

The man frowned. "Then I am sorry you are miserable."

Kisara startles. "I wasn't talking about me!" She recognizes the shift in his tone this time; that sentence he meant, honestly.

"Please try to be happy," he told her. Is it just her imagination or was his voice growing softer? "What can I do to make you happy today?"

"You can start by telling me your name," she says.

He inclined his head towards her in a sharp nod. "Only if you tell me yours first."

She smiles. "Please, call me Kisara."

A young cousin's loud sobbing draws her concerned attention away from the stranger, and Kisara excuses herself with an "I'll be right back" and an apologetic smile as she pulls a nearby box of tissues off of a low table and runs to deliver them to her cousin. A minute later she returns, but when she had looked all around the dimly lit archway she found that he had seemingly disappeared.

* * *

_**Act I**_

It is two years later when she meets him again. An 18-year-old Kisara rides her bicycle up the sidewalk. She passes a bevy of EMT vehicles, passes a just-opened newsstand and a coffee shop that already has a line out the door, navigates the familiar paths that would take her to her school. It is early, and she swears at first that it's a mirage produced from one-too-many late nights and no breakfast, but there he was, walking towards her, the same dark coat fluttering in the cold morning wind.

She waits until they are about to cross paths before she stops and jumps off of the bicycle, turning her chin up to be able to look him in the eyes.

"It's you!"

He stopped, abruptly, one eyebrow rising in that same surprised manner that she has to stifle a giggle at it.

"You haven't changed at all!" she says gleefully.

"Kisara." He said her name softly, mulling over each syllable slowly in turn. She nods brightly.

"I never forget a face!" she says.

"Neither do I," he muttered.

"You never even gave me your name!" Kisara brushes her hair out of her eyes as a strong gust of wind blows her bangs around her face.

He hesitated, tense, stuffing his hands in his pockets. "You'll be better off if you just forget all about me, you know."

"But…what if I don't want to?" She says.

They both stand there, neither speaking, until Kisara reaches forward to tug on his coat sleeve. "Want to walk me to school?"

"I can't," was his quick reply. "I have to get to work."

"Oh," she sighs sympathetically, sadly. The sight of it made him want to rethink things, and that perhaps a few minutes wouldn't make such a big difference after all.

"Would you like to get breakfast with me?" He asked.

Her face brightens, and to him it was worth it to sit down in a small café for five minutes and buy her a coffee and a cheese danish and watch her eat it. He glanced occasionally at the cheap art deco clock on the wall, and he was glad when she stands up first to leave.

"If I don't leave now I'll be late!" She says, waving to him—she's got danish crumbs on her chin, doesn't even realize it—but he dutifully walked outside with her and watched her jump back on her bicycle.

"Hey, Kisara," he talked softly and she leans in closer to listen, and he suddenly noticed that she smells like lilac. "Wear a helmet next time, ok?"

She nods brightly, and pedals away from him down the sidewalk. He watched her until she turned the next corner, then turned around himself and kept walking.

* * *

_**Act II**_

She meets him again three months later at a Tanabata Festival. Kisara is wearing a yukata she can barely breathe in, and shoes she can't really walk in, but she thinks she's never looked more beautiful. Her friends have gone to write their wishes on the tanzaku to hang on the bamboo tree, but Kisara's already written hers so she wanders the stalls and watches the games, a stick of Anko Dango in hand. She's so caught up in the sights and smells and tastes of the event that she almost doesn't notice him until he's standing right in front of her and her shoulder knocks into his.

"It's you!" She's more surprised than anything else. It's almost as though the moment she forgets about him, even for a moment, he decided to pop back in to remind her that he's real, and not some nameless figment of her imagination.

"Hey, you're not dressed for Tanabata!" He winced; from the tone of her voice it seems like there is no greater sin on this day. He still wore the same coat she has always seen him in. She wonders briefly if he ever washes it. She remembers it feeling rather nice, even though it was old and faded.

Now that they are standing closer, she can see him more clearly. She has always thought that his coat was black, but on closer inspection she finds that it's actually a rather nice shade of dark blue, with brass-toned buttons. Even his shoes were a glossy blue color. How had she missed this? She didn't remember his eyes being this blue, too.

Dark eyes, dark hair, dark clothes, too. All of him seemed to match, she thinks. Maybe her memories betrayed her.

"Is something wrong?" He asked.

"Yes," she says. "I still don't know your name, you know." She eats her last piece of dango.

"It's Seto," he said.

"Seto," she tries out the name, likes the way it feels off of her tongue. Sweet, like the dango syrup. Unfamiliar, like the kind of spicy fish she tried earlier. "What brings you to Tanabata?"

He grimaces. Kisara thinks maybe Seto had tried the spicy fish, too.

"Can I give you a present?" He asked. Kisara nods happily.

He pulled a clear plastic bag with a goldfish in it from behind his back. "I, uh, won it, and I don't really have anywhere to keep it, and I figured you might like it."

Kisara grabs the bag from him and pokes the side of it, watching the fish dart around. "I think I'll name him Triton!"

Seto snorts, and Kisara simply clutches the nervous fish closer.

"I have to leave, soon," Seto told her. "I'm glad I was able to see you, if only for a moment."

She's still watching the fish and listening to the rhythmic cadence of his voice. How had she missed this?

She didn't have time, she supposed, for he was gone again. She found that more and more, all of her time went into missing him.

* * *

_**Act III**_

A week later, Triton was dead, and Kisara turns away from the kitchen counter to clean out the now-empty newly-bought fishbowl. When she turns back, he's standing there again, leaning against her refrigerator and looking at her with the strangest expression of longing and displacement.

"How did you get inside my house?" Are the first words out of her mouth, and Kisara quickly runs through the locations of the phone, scissors, and sharp knives in the kitchen in case she has to use them against Seto or call for help. Kisara has always been an early riser, so she knows that there's little chance of a neighbor being up to hear her scream for help if she has to. She presses herself back into the kitchen counter, trying to put more space in-between them.

"Kisara, you're a smart girl. Put two and two together." He paused. "And I'm sorry I entered your house without an invitation."

She half wants to smack him. Like _that _would be the reason why she's mad! "Get _out_ of my house, you strange, fish-killing—"

"I'm Death, Kisara," he interrupted.

"You…what?" She can't put together a more elegant statement, too confused by the presence of this near-stranger in her kitchen, but she continues to watch him for any sign of ill intent. "Prove it, then."

"Watch me, and in five minutes I'll disappear right before your eyes," he told her.

"I'm sorry for calling you a fish-killer," she says. "But…I don't believe in what you stand for—that there is more than life, not since I became an orphan…but I trust you, and let's assume you _are _what you say you are…"

"…Death," he prompted.

"Yes." She sighs, glancing back at the now empty fishbowl.

"If it helps, your fish had a scale infection," Seto said.

"So you _did_—"

He interrupted her again. "Not really. But I will admit that I knew of your fish's condition when I gave him to you."

Kisara stares blankly at him. "You gave me a terminal fish so you could see me again?"

He offered her a brief conceding smirk, before his face is once again filled with the tension and stress that Kisara now knows the source of. "I can't go only seeing you a month here, a year there. All this _time_ is driving me mad."

Kisara has to agree, but she would never give him the satisfaction of knowing it. "So…how does this work?"

"I can only come to this world when someone—or something—dies. And even then I can only stay for a few minutes, just long enough to collect the soul."

"Why can't I see them, then?" Kisara asks, jutting out her chin.

"Because you're not dead." He smirked.

"Then why can I see you?"

"Because you're…" he paused, his eyes regarding her thoughtfully before answering. "…special."

Kisara looked away quickly, focusing her own eyes firmly on the ground before her, not noticing the sudden rush of heat that graced his face, or how a second later, when she had looked up, he was already gone.

Another fish sat in a plastic bag on the counter in his place.

* * *

_**Act IV**_

It only took five days the next time. Three days the time after that. Seto seemed to be getting better at finding fish that would suit their purposes. Kisara is in her room when Seto appeared. She knows he is there without seeing him or even turning around.

"Jason's dead," Kisara says as a greeting.

"You're _still _naming them?" He asked.

"Yes," she says calmly. "I haven't given up on them yet, you know. I haven't given up on you, either."

How many had to die so that they might meet? Was it really so bad, to be in love with someone like him? To be alive and to be a _target_, however indirect, of every sense of his job description? How strange it is, to be living only for Death.

She hadn't told him yet, that she has somehow fallen in love with him. She didn't even _know_ him, not really. They never talked of each other in their moments together, but when she closed her eyes at night the last thought in her head was of a pair of deep blue eyes and their owner. Of the way his embraces made her feel safer, more content than she has ever been.

He moved to hold her again, and she lets him. He would show her though slight physical touches and caresses everything that he couldn't say in words. She supposes it was because since no one had ever noticed him before, he never had a need to cultivate a sense of articulation.

"I don't deserve you," he whispered into her hair. "I've done…bad things. I'm not proud of who I am."

Kisara feels his arms tighten around her. "But I won't let you go."

She feels it again, but the dizzying happiness that grows in her stomach and flutters through her chest makes her ignore the fact that he had once again spoken a lie.

When he vanishes this time, he leaves behind another fish and a shriveled and dried red rose tied with a frayed blue ribbon.

"I love you," she whispers into the silence.

* * *

_**Act V**_

It's another five months later that Kisara feels that it's time to make a stand. She can sense that they're both growing restless by the necessary separation, but he won't tell her the answers of the questions she asks. She only knows that she can't live like this. Both apply—being apart from him, and this act they put on, planning and metering out their visits to the ticking of a clock.

He made his presence known by settling a hand lightly on her shoulder, and she turns around and kisses him.

"Seto," she implores him, but he never indulges her. Some days they have as much as five minutes together, others less than thirty seconds.

"Wait. There's something I have to give you," he said.

He searched through one of the cargo-styled pockets on his coat, and pulled out something wrapped in a thick paper. He handed it to her, and she unwraps the package to reveal a gold locket necklace.

He's never given her jewelry before. Kisara glances at him quizzically.

"This necklace…will hide you from me," he said. "This relationship is dangerous, Kisara. I should not have become so close to you."

"I won't!" Her fingers tightened around the thin silk cord of the necklace. It was a gift from him, so she treasured it, but at the same time she wanted to throw it as far away from herself as she could.

"For me." Their eyes met. "Do it for me. If we meet…and it's _not like this_," his voice choked over the words, and Kisara could tell how much it was costing him to say them, "I don't think I could take it."

"But I want to be with you." Her voice was small, and both hopeful and desperate. "I…love you."

At her words his hands started to shake, and Kisara grasps them firmly in her own. "There has to be a way."

"Yes," he told her firmly. "This is it. What do you want to do, visit funerals every day just so we get a few minutes together? Live your life like this with me? You deserve so much more than _death_." He spat his title like he would a curse, and Kisara shudders. She has never seen him angry before. He was right, in a small way. There is so much she would never be able to know about him. She lives her life in the present, while he never can, and never will.

"For me. Please."

She gets the feeling that he's never had to ask for anything like this in his life, but she does it anyway, with trembling fingers and her breath caught in her throat. Her hair catches in the clasp and her eyes fill with the onset of tears, but she keeps her eyes locked firmly on his. She doesn't want to miss him this time.

She finally gets the clasp right, and he smiled when she pulls her hands back and the locket rests against her throat.

"Finally. I don't have to worry about you anymore." He embraced her again, whispered it into her ear. "I love you, you know. I wanted you to know. I wanted to know that you knew."

"I know," she says. "I love you, too."

When he disappears this time, she swears she can still feel his arms around her for a good half-hour before the feeling fades, although it takes much longer before the tears on her cheeks dry or the room no longer smells like him. Even though all other evidence fades, she never forgets him.

* * *

_**Epilogue**_

When they will meet again more than fifty years will have passed, but for the two it will have felt like barely a day measured by the beats of their hearts. But this has not happened yet, and for now they will have to wait to be happy, and to see each other again.

**End. **

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* * *

**A/N: The tense shifts were an intentional stylistic choice. All actions of Kisara's were told in present tense, and all of Seto's actions were expressed through past tense. The Epilogue is told in future tense.

Any reviews would be much valued and appreciated!

~Jess


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